The Family Wesson
by theprinceofrags
Summary: Clayton Wesson was entering into his fourth year at Hogwarts and there was a new Headmaster, new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and a new plot. I do not own Harry Potter or the characters, save my OC's.
1. The Funeral

Clayton woke up and was full of excitement. _Father's coming home_, he thought excitedly. He put his jeans and t-shirt on before rushing down the stairs. He burst into the kitchen and saw his mom holding a letter with a tear rolling down her cheek. His wonderful morning turned sour as he saw a black owl belonging to his father's boss, Rudolphus.

"Oh, Clay, I'm so sorry, it's your father," his mother began sobbing violently. "The horntail that he was working with a dog began barking. It acted on instinct and attacked. He was gone before they knew what happened…."

Clay collapsed on the floor and a few tears gently trickled down his face. It sank in. His father would not retire this year. He would not see his son join the family legacy of working with dragons. He would not see his grandchildren. His father would not see him married, fall in love, break the record he himself set as chaser, and would never be there to see him again. Clay realized that he was not the only one going through this. He rose to his feet and joined his mother at the table. He grimaced as he took his mother's hand.

* * *

Two days later, Clayton was standing alongside his uncle, two cousins, and two men from his father's work. They hefted the casket bearing his father's body. After what was a few seconds but seemed like hours, he was at the door leading to the family crypt. His grandfather walked to the door and let his tears fall upon the dias. The gateway seemed to disappear from existence and the six carried the coffin and set his father inside his eternal resting place.

Clay and his mother returned to the Wesson family manner for the reading of the will. The room was somber and a painting of Clay's father came to life as they entered. The portrait grinned at Clayton who could not help but grin lightly back. The pain of loss was fleeing for a moment. It returned stronger than ever when his father began to speak, "Hello all, I trust that the pudding was magnificent as always. Anyhow, I guess I'm dead. I hope I went with some dignity, unlike Uncle Roderick over there-"

"Oi, watcher, boy! I may be a portrait, but I can jinx you like old times," Roderick hollered from across the room.

"Yes sir, Uncle! I'll make sure to do just that. Well, as we all know, Wesson family tradition holds that my own portrait shall read my will. I have it right here. Ah yes, I Arcturius Winthrop Wesson, do solemnly swear that I am deceased. These are my will and testaments. To my father, I leave my love and a pension of four thousand galleons, you know already what these are to be used for. To my beautiful wife, Stacy Jacquillen Wesson nee Clarke, I leave my home, my heart, this portrait, and half of my estate. To my son, Clayton Kelley Wesson, I leave my broom, my journal, my spell books, the other half of my estate remaining, a pocket portrait of me, and the key to my private office in the cellar and all of its contents, my ring, and my private vault when you turn eighteen. To my brother, Samuel Chase Wesson, I leave the remainder of my library and the family wand. I have left the remainder of you a task, simple enough, but important none the less. Keep my son safe and guide him in all that he does. That is all I do believe. I love you all. If you have any questions, my portrait shall always be here."

* * *

When Clayton and his mother returned home, she told him that she would be home in a few hours and she would be filing the paperwork for the estate. Clayton was given the key to his father's office by his uncle after the reading of the will. He went up the stairs in the country home and put the key in the door. As he did, a golden light burst from the keyhole around the key. Clay gave the door a light push, and it opened without a sound.

He walked in slowly and saw a picture of him and his father on the desk. It was matched by an old, weathered picture of his mother. He immediately felt a pang in his heart and continued into the room. He saw a bookshelf to the left and saw his father's dragon tooth necklace hanging upon the mirror. Clay heard a voice behind him say, "Hello, Clay."

He turned around and looked about curiously for the speaker until he saw his father smiling in a portrait. Clay was flooded with joy and said in a breaking voice, "D-dad?"

"As perceptive as ever, my son. It is me. I thought it would be cold to leave you without a way of talking to me. Look in the top drawer," the portrait said, pointing at the desk. Clay walked over and opened the drawer. He saw a key with the family crest engraved on both ends. He drew it from the desk. "That'd be the Wesson Key, son. It is enchanted to unlock anything. It is the only key that works on my safe. Go ahead, open it, my boy."

Clay went to the cast iron vault in the corner and put the key to the lock. He gave the door a tug, and it came straight open. He saw a soft, black leather backpack, and an assortment of other items, along with a small treasure trove of galleons. He looked to his father, who nodded his approval. Clayton pulled the backpack from the safe and saw his name on a small golden plaque. "Open it son. It has some of the things from my will. I had it custom made and fitted with anti detection charms, spells blocking it being summoned by any but you, extension charms, and a spell that prevents any but you from opening it. You're broom is in there, my journal, the portrait I told you about, my ring, and a few other odds and ends."

Clay opened it and saw nothing. "You only have to think of what you desire and it shall be in the bag," his father added. Clay thought, _the ring_. Suddenly, he saw the ring with the red stone appear in the bag. He put it on his hand, timidly. Suddenly, he heard a voice in his head, "_Hello, Clay. It is me, your grandfather._"

"What? Papaw, what is this?" Clay asked, shocked.

"_Ahh, a Wesson family secret. These rings were made by Arcturius Wesson the first and his wife, Alessandria. They have the ability to be undetectable and to serve as a portkey for anywhere you wish to travel to. Whether it be your father's study, the manor, or even Hogwarts. No one knows of the connection and no one can tell you and I are speaking. All you must do is think of what you want to say, and I shall hear it,_" he heard his grandfather's voice say in his head.

Clay sat down at the desk and was flooded with all of the new knowledge and secrets. He fell asleep while reading one of his father's books on dragons.


	2. An Unexpected Visit and a Package

It was near midnight and pouring rain when Clay heard a knock from the door downstairs. _Who is it this late at night?_ Clay thought to himself as he walked down the stairs. He looked through the peep hole and saw a rangy looking man huddling under the porch. Clay unlocked the door and opened it.

"Hello, Clayton, your dad told me a lot about you. May I come in?" The scraggly man asked politely. Clay waved the man in and asked, "Who are you, sir?"

"Ah, I am Rupert Squallus Rushing. You may call me Rupert, however," the man went to take a seat. _Where have I heard that name before_, Clay pondered as he took a seat. He noticed several scars on the man's face and a missing ring finger. _Wait, it can't be_…..

"Are you THE Rupert Rushing? I mean, I'm not trying to seem rude, but I've read several of the books about him," Clay trailed off, not trying to seem like an adoring fan.

"Ahh, yes. I am THE Rupert Rushing. I did kill Alexander the Terrible, but I'm sure it was not in the fashion that the novel depicts. As a matter of fact, I was preparing for Azkaban. It was not a heroic act that I did, just merely revenge," Rupert answered.

"I would like to learn some about it, sir. My friends and I used to reenact the famous Battle in the Sky with our toy brooms," Clay said hopefully.

"That was one of the few actually magnificent events I partook in," Rupert chuckled lightly before continuing, "well, I guess I could glean some information for my old friend's son. Honestly, if your father hadn't saved me, you would not hear any tall tales. As is widely known, Alexander himself killed my pregnant wife after I saved an Auror from his men. He and his men took turns raping her while I was forced to watch. After he killed her, he cut off my ring finger and said that my wife was dead; I would no longer need it. A week later, I took to a broom and killed four of his men in the Battle in the Sky. I crashed my broom in a tree and your father found me outside this very house, battered and broken. I thought myself a failure. I couldn't even avenge my own wife and unborn child. Your father hid me upstairs in the study. Alexander arrived with ten of his men. Your father, grandfather, uncle, and mother fought off Alexander, with your uncle losing an eye. Your father had me healed and offered to join me. He traveled with me part of the way until he was hurt. Finally, I killed over eight of Alexander's followers and had him wandless in a corner. Instead of doing what I should have done, I killed him in the memory of my wife. Instead of being considered the murderer I am, I was hailed as a hero…" A tear trickled down the man's granite face and he pulled two pictures from his pocket. "I am truly sorry I did not make it for the funeral, Clay. Take this, it is a photograph of your father and I after we returned. I know what it's like to lose a loved one. If you have any need of me, have your mother contact me. I must warn you, though, something wicked this way comes. Your father knew, he spoke with me about it. I cannot tell you what now. You will know in the end though. Oh, and your father had given me something to give to you. He will be delivered in the morning, I've checked with Hogwarts and you will be permitted to bring him."

* * *

Clay stayed up all night, like a child on Christmas, he was giddy with anticipation. He heard a rapping on the front door and leapt from his bed. He rushed down the stairs and opened the door. Clay opened the door and saw two men in tan suits. They had a wooden box labeled, "Live Animal." The wizard on the right asked him to sign a receipt. Clay grabbed a quill and put his name down hastily. The wizard tapped the box with his wand, and the wood disappeared. There was a cage with a dog sized Welsh Green dragon. Clay nearly passed out and was speechless from joy.

"The Head of the Beast Division of the Department of Magical Creatures, Charlie Weasley, will be by later today with your rules and tips on handling a pygmy Welsh Green. I suggest you do not remove him from his cage until Charlie gets here," the wizard to the right instructed.

* * *

Clayton saw a stocky red head apparate onto his lawn. He opened the door, stuck out his hand and grinned. Charlie clasped his hand, and Clayton realized he had a strong, calloused hand. "Hello, Clayton Wesson, I suppose?"

"Yes sir," Clayton smiled meekly.

"I'm Charlie Weasley, Head of the Beast Division. I'm here to teach you how to take proper care of your dragon. I would like to give my condolences to you and your mother while I am over. Is she here?" The stocky ginger replied.

"No, sir, Mum's at work right now," Clayton said with a light hearted shrug.

"Oh, well I'm sure I'll see her. She and I were sweethearts our fourth year," Charlie's eyes showed a faint sparkle while walking down memory lane, "your dad was in our year also. He and I were thick as thieves because of our fondness towards fire breathing lizards." Charlie chuckled lightly.

"Did y'all work together?" Clay inquired.

"Yeah, he actually got me a job after I hooked your mum up with him. She and I remained friends after the break up."

"That's awesome," Clay grinned. He and Charlie went down the stairs to grab the pygmy dragon. "Now, one thing about these, Clay, they can breath fire. However, they have been trained not to spout flames indoors and to never torch people. Have you given any thought to its name?"

"Well, I was thinking about the dragon my ancestors took care of, Drake," Clay said with a mysterious tone of voice.

"Yes, your father told me of the dragon, Chinese Fireball, I do believe. Drake is a fine name for one," Charlie replied as he crouched and picked up the small dragon, "now, these buggers can bite. A fierce little snap will take a finger, but the often nip at the owner playfully. They have a very protective demeanor also. While, they cannot talk, your father has told me about your rings. He showed me and let me experience an extremely deep emotion for any dragon lover. You cannot communicate empathetically with dragons. Only if they so allow it, and usually that takes some intimate time together."

Clay looked from the small mewling dragon to his ring and sent out his mind towards the dragon. He felt an odd feeling of nobleness, yet shyness. The dragons mind was aloof and began to play games with him. Prying into his thoughts and then back out.

Charlie chuckled, "See what I mean? Little Drake just has to get used to you."

They went out into the yard and set the dragon free. Charlie told Clay what he knew of pygmies and gave him a small book. "Read this for a little more knowledge on the subject." They began to practice charms in case Drake set anything on fire. Clay learned that Drake could only fly a maximum of thirty feet. As the sun was setting, Charlie said good bye, and Clay took Drake up to his room and went to bed, exhausted.


End file.
